Trip Around the Sun: Second Leg

Joe Colby

Description

It was called the roaring twenties. Bars were known as speakeasies. Radio sped to the inquisitive ear news of the world, Ford sold over a million Model-Ts, and a hardworking man could feed a family of six on ten dollars a day - with a nickel left over.

The year was 1926, a time that a boy of thirteen - with his three siblings, his mother, and father - would take a yearlong travel from California to America's heartland, Missouri.

This is but one leg of the story. You'll experience the challenges endured by our thirteen-year-old-long before there were freeways, air conditioning, and even in places paved roads. When you're a poor, migrant, farm-working family, you may hope for a change or better conditions, but it's probably not coming. To complain about it only makes it worse.

The days turn into weeks for the family as they move firsthand through the elements of their travel. Rain, heat, dust, cold, rain, sunny days, starlit nights, rain - and, oh, let it be known, there was rain. All between each flat tire or breakdown of the car. A boy's character was built and rebuilt each new day. 

Sujets

• Historical
• General officer
• General
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Yorkshire Publishing
• Date de parution: 11 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781957262499
• Langue: English

Extrait

ISBN 978-1-952320-96-5 (Paperback)
978-1-957262-49-9 (Ebook)
Trip Around The Sun - Second Leg
Copyright © 2021 Joe Colby
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.
Yorkshire Publishing
1425 E 41st Pl
Tulsa, OK 74105
www.YorkshirePublishing.com
918.394.2665
Printed in the USA




Preface
I’m Trip, and this is my book. If you’ve been with me on first leg, you know I’m a fourteen year old farm boy, who’s being raised by migrant farm workers, with parents who sometimes can’t rub two nickels together, and freshly planted in the dusty mid-west. Here’s what you’ll see in this next leg: How I tangled first hand with a felony bootlegger, The real reason my family members refused to live close to each other, Prejudice. Hearing people talk down about negroes and people of color
Have I got you hooked yet? Here’s more. You’ll get a first-hand account of the 1921 Tulsa, Oklahoma race riots from a good friend and mentor Learn how to hustle money from Christmas shoppers Venture down old wagon trails of the mid-west, and parts of the newly completed Route 66.
Think of it. Where else does a fourteen year old boy get to experience so much? You now have a front row seat afforded you (perhaps with your own bag of popcorn) to read how I manage it all.


Chapter 1
“What’s wrong, John?” Mother asked.
Dad abruptly stopped, pulling the car, a 1922 Reo, over to the side of the road.
He opened his door slowly. Without saying a word he slid out of his seat and stepped onto the gravel road. Unlike many city streets, country roads are nothing but gravel and dirt. Perhaps twice a year they get oil sprayed on them, and that keeps the dust down. But as Dad says, “They ain’t nothin but glorified wagon trails.”
As he stood there, he placed his hand upon the windshield, looking beyond the front of the car. From where I sat, it looked like we were in the middle of nowhere—but then for most of our trip it seemed like that.
As if on cue, Mother turned quickly around in her seat and give us four kids one softly spoken, yet firm statement. “Don’t any of you ask no questions of your father. I’m sure it’s all fine. We’ll let him have his moment, for now.”
“ For now ?” I thought. “It’s the first week of October, 1926, and we’ve been traveling east from California for six weeks. Just yesterday Dad said we were almost to our final destination. And now, now we sit along the side of the road, beside what’s not even a dot on a map. What gives?”
Jarring me from my thought was the sight of Dad stooping down. Then he picked up a small gray rock and stood there, bouncing it up and down in his palm. “You see that house up the road? That’s Mother and Dad’s.”
After taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh, he continued, “I ain’t no real deep thinkin’ man, but, I’m older. Older and wiser.” He then adjusted his fedora so as to allow his full face become exposed to all. With the rock still in his hand he continued. “When I left home in ’88, I guess I was mad. I guess I was itchin’ to find my way in life. I could never hit my parents, but I could throw rocks at the life I was leavin’. So, figuring I was startin’ anew I threw a rock at my past.
“Now, as then, I’m startin’ a new chapter. So, I’m throwin’ a rock back. Guess that brings me full circle.”
Dad then moved to the center of the road, cocked his right arm and let the gray rock fly. He stood there for a moment as he watched the rock bounce three times, coming to a stop on the shoulder of the road.
Again, taking hold of his hat, he brought it forward so that the brim shaded his eyes. He walked back to the car. After climbing into his seat, he reached down and discharged the brake and began the forward movement for the quarter mile to the ole’ homestead.
Making the turn onto the dusty driveway the entire house became visible to all in the car. As if puppets looking over a fence, my brother, David, my two sisters—Ellen and Virginia and I crowded into the gap between where Mother and Dad sat to get our first ‘look-see’.
“ Was this it? ” I thought to myself.
Dad brought the car to a stop just in front of the farm-house. Though it had a high, pitched roofline, the building appeared to be but one story. It was white, though very faded and dirty from years of neglect. The overhanging roof helped enclose the wrap around porch both in depth and width. The six symmetrical shaped pillars that supported the roof were connected together by a three foot double-rail railing, all in the same color as the house, dirty white.
Between the overgrown, untrimmed hedges that lay along the perimeter of the porch I saw the typical gray colored floor. An unwritten rule must exist that a farm-house must be white, and porches must be gray. There sure are a lot of them.
Sitting in the car for a moment, the six of us looked around and scanned the area. Through the windshield, I saw what appeared to be a work project waiting to happen: it would mean replacing some of the shingles on the roof, especially the ones with moss growing on them, along with a fresh coat of white paint for the house.
I wondered how Dad was feeling now that we’d arrived. Were it me, I’d be nervous as all heck. I glanced over at Ellen. She seemed to sense the way I was thinking. She nodded her head and rolled her eyes towards Dad, though no words were spoken.
Six year old David and ten year old Virginia, were less sensitive to Dad’s ordeal. Both of them were kneeling on the floor board with their hands on the back of the front seat. It was David that actually broke the ice by asking, “Is this where Grandpa and Grandma live?”
Dad chuckled a bit and answered, “Yeah, I guess it is, kids. I never thought when I left that it would be a grandparent’s house, if you know what I mean. Yep, it’s where your grandpa and grandma live. Shall we go see if they’ll let us in?”
“Yeah! Let’s go see Grandpa and Grandma!” David was not holding back any of his excitement.
“You should know that Grandma’s not well.” Mother warned us. “We might want to keep our noise down, ‘cause she’s very ill.”
“She gonna die?” David’s inquisitive and yet six-year-old insensitivity was clearly on display.
“I don’t know. She’s very sick. That’s one reason why we’re here. Just be quiet and stay calm ‘til we know what things are like. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“How ‘bout you Virginia?”
“I understand, Daddy. I’m sorry your mother ain’t in good health.”
“Thank you sweetheart.” With that, Dad turned to his right and reaching over the seat gave his youngest girl a pat on her hand.
We exited the car and as we stood there, rather nervous at the upcoming social call, Mother gave us all a ‘once over’. Straitening the straps on our overalls, dusting the dirt off of David’s knees, and then wetting her finger to slick down his cowlick, was her way of bringing us up to her standards. Even Dad had to endure her inspectional gaze.
“I like the wishing well.” Virginia had taken up a position next to me, looking away from the house, in the direction of the large white barn. In our view was a large rock formation. It sat on an island of ground between the house, the barn and the roadway. Well defined tire tracks circled the island.
“That’s not a well, or not any more. It’s just a ‘round-about.” Dad explained.
“What’s a round-about’?” Virginia’s interest had been stirred.
“In this case, it’s where the well was. It’s nothin’ but a hole in the ground now. Before I left I remember getting’ a new well dug, back of the house. We’d drive around the well with the wagons. It looks like nothin’ but a big weed patch now.”
“It could use some fixin’ up.” Mother’s opinion generally meant a chore was next in hand.
“Could we make it a Halloween or Thanksgiving well?” Virginia asked.
“If that’s alright with your Grandpa. Don’t want to just do somethin’ without his say so.” Mother gave the warning to us all. “I see where we might be of some help to your Pa. I could put the kids to work on cleaning up the place. Do ya think he’d mind, John?”
“I suppose. When the times right we’ll ask.” Dad was even starting to take in the grounds, noting possible projects.
“There’s a lot of good the kids can do, if you don’t think your parents would mind?” Mother, was like Santa’s elf making a list and checking it twice. “If your mother ain’t in the mood to having lots of noise, the kids can be out here gettin’ rid of their energy and being productive as well.”
“That should work,” Dad answered. As he continued to lead us to the front door, he added, “Let’s play it by ear and see.”
As we walked along the front walk, it was obvious the yard wasn’t a priority to Grandpa. Weeds and dead grass grew between the cracks of the broken cement. With each step I felt certain the four of us kids would find our hands full of tools, doing whatever tasks Mother could find.
I made it up the six steps that landed onto the gray colored porch, just in time to catch Mother and Dad exchanging glances at each other. Without a word said I knew what they were thinking, “This needs a lot of work.”
The hand rail was wobbly and loose. The six pillars that went from the porch to the roof, which at one time were probably white, had turned light brown.
We huddled together, just inches’ from the wooden frame screen door